


nothing will satisfy me but you, the baby and the colour tv

by freethedoncastertwo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Sick Fic, lourry as parents, very vaguely implied mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freethedoncastertwo/pseuds/freethedoncastertwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the face of the flu Louis is a chicken soup-wielding superhero (and sick people are terribly mean).</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing will satisfy me but you, the baby and the colour tv

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is just a tiny little domestic!lourry thing in which Harry and Louis are parents. There’s some slightly implied mpreg if you squint, because I got three-quarters of the way through it before I realised that I’d given the kid traits from both parents and figured that it was fine.  
> The title is taken from Royal in the Afternoon by the Whitlams.

Louis is very good at balancing things. He’s a champion, even. He balances two bowls of organic chicken soup and two thermometers in his hands as he nudges the door to the master bedroom open with his foot. He peeks inside at his invalids and clucks his tongue.

Harry, through a haze of probable delirium, hears the noise and lifts his head. “Lou,” he mumbles pitifully, his drawl even slower than usual. “I’m sick.”

“ _Lou_ ,” a squeakier voice echoes him. “I’m sick too.”

Louis pokes the small lump next to Harry and frowns. “Call me Dad, you little imp.” He places the bowls of soup on the bedside table and straightens up proudly, declaring, “I cooked.”

Harry groans in agony at that and rolls over. The lump cackles. Louis huffs, scowling at the both of them. “I spent a lot of time and effort on this soup!” he gripes, directing his gaze at what he can see of Harry’s curls. Harry just sort of grunts.

The smallish lump pokes out its equally curly head. A tiny red face grins up at Louis, cheeky even in sickness. (That’s probably Louis’ fault, that.) “Lou,” their son croaks painfully (Louis’ heart half-breaks and half feels annoyed) “can’t we have chocolate instead?”

Louis shakes his head. He is the sensible one today. “No. You are sick, misters. You are going to stay in bed and drink healthy fluids, and you are going to eat my lovingly-made chicken soup and you’re going to like it.” Louis nods, placing his hands on his hips for dramatic effect.

Lump snorts. He ducks halfway beneath the covers and cups his hand over Harry’s ear. “Dad,” he faux-whispers, “other Dad’s being a dick.”

Louis gasps. “I’ll show _you_ a dick –”

“ _Louis!_ ” Harry scolds, finally emerging from his cocoon of blankets. “Watch what you say around Benjamin, please. Ben, don’t antagonise your father.” Ben just laughs at this, and Harry stares levelly at Louis. “We’re going to eat your chicken soup and then get some sleep, and I think you should leave us to rest. And please don’t use anymore of that language around our son.”

Louis gawks. Harry picks up his bowl of soup and disappears back into his quilted world of fevers and moral superiority. Ben pokes his tongue out at Louis before doing the same.

Everyone is so unfair.

-

It’s been three hours and Louis is making chicken soup again.

It’s just; he’s not quite sure what else to do. It’s Saturday and the boys asked him over to play FIFA, but he can’t go out when there are two feverish lumps at home that need his care. His invalids are cruel and cheeky at times but they’re also _sick_ , and he wants them to get better and he loves them.

Louis has always been compassionate. But he’s never been quite like his mother, never _good_ at the medical things. And it always sort of frightens him when people are poorly; just sets him off-kilter a bit. He wants to be doing something, and soup is the only thing he knows how to do.

And they don’t even like it. So there’s that.

Louis sighs in frustration when the telltale smell of burnt food floods through the kitchen and he has to dish out yet another batch of ruined noodles. He runs a hand through his hair and quickly saves the broccoli from the same fate, snatching up the saucepan and dumping it on the kitchen bench with a clatter. He burns his fingers in the process and swears. He dashes to the sink and runs cold water over it, fuming at himself.

At least the chicken’s been cooked right. Louis stares at it. Sweet, white chicken. It would never hurt his heart by getting all burnt and ruined.

Louis almost has to blink away tears, and shit. He must be really fucking tired.

Just as that thought occurs to him, a pair of steady hands slips around his waist. Louis leans back into them. “You alright, love?” Harry rasps gently.

Louis laughs a little and flicks his hair. “Fine. Just. I’m really bad at this.”

Harry massages his scalp, silently coaxing him into turning around. Louis turns and looks at him, and Harry inquires, “Bad at what, love?”

Louis gestures around. “Like, all of this? Boiling noodles and dicing vegetables and not swearing and just – taking care of people.”

“Bullshit,” Harry says immediately. He raises an eyebrow as if he can’t quite believe that Louis’ serious. “Louis, you’re the best person at _taking care of people_ that I know. You don’t even have to worry about that, what.”

Louis hides his face in Harry’s shoulder. “But Ben thinks I’m a dick.”

Harry laughs. “Louis, he’s _ten_. You know how he gets. Mentally restless when his body doesn’t have the strength to be running around. Kind of like someone else we know, eh?” He jiggles Louis a bit in an attempt to get him to perk up.

Louis allows himself a small chuckle. “What’s he doing now?” he whispers.

Harry kisses the top of Louis’ head. “Sleeping,” he murmurs back. “I think his fever’s gone down a bit.”

“Thank fuck,” Louis sighs. “Tears me apart, seeing him like that.” Harry hums his agreement. Louis peers up at him. “And you? How are you feeling?”

Harry’s face is pale, but he’s smiling. “Still a bit achy, but better than before.” He squeezes Louis’ shoulders. “You look exhausted. Ready for me to help out with this chicken soup?”

Louis sinks against him. “Yes, _please_.”

Harry goes over to the vegetables and Louis is on spices and noodles. They cook together for a while like that, letting the day drag into cosy afternoon. Louis makes most of the soup, much to his pride. Ben’s still asleep when it’s finished, so they put some in the fridge for later.

Then they curl up on the lounge together and dozily eat the rest of it. And (all things considered) it’s really not bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to hmu at tipsy-louis.tumblr.com. :)


End file.
